


Under the Space Needle

by samidha



Category: Dark Angel, Supernatural
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Canon Mad Character, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dark Angel 1.17, Gen, Supernatural Season 5, Timeline Fudgery, Timeline What Timeline, canon neurodivergent character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-30
Updated: 2011-06-30
Packaged: 2018-12-01 16:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11490633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samidha/pseuds/samidha
Summary: He is the one who hunts the hunters.





	Under the Space Needle

**Author's Note:**

> I like Ben. A lot. ;)

The Pulse finds them where they often are, Sam sleeping on the couch and Dean sleeping on the floor amid a sea of books in Bobby’s main room.

It figures. Spend what feels like years trying to avert the supernaturally-born apocalypse only to have some unforeseen man-made weapon undo all of their fine handiwork. 

They fill their baby one more time from gasoline hidden in the panic room in Bobby’s basement and they head west.

At first, it’s hard to get gas. But no one is as determined as Dean Winchester when the alternative is leaving the Impala on the side of the road. No one else has Sam’s psychic make-up either. So in the end the only thing that gets between them and mysteriously busted gas pumps are the crowds, and if they come at the right time of night no one bothers them at all.

The only problem is they can’t go back the way they’ve come. Bobby gets further and further away. It’s a damn good thing Sam can rip into gasoline stores with his mind, because the Impala is the only home they have left. 

But, then again, that isn’t new.

They’re crossing into Seattle when an itch starts in Sam’s brain. Here they are, and they can’t go back.

This isn’t how he imagined a return to the west coast would be.

But it’s been years, and when have any of Sam’s plans gone right anyway?

They still talk to Bobby via cell phone, sometimes. The cell towers had been the government’s top priority in restoring some semblance of normalcy, connectedness. They call in to his main line just like old times and try not to think of the other lines remaining dormant, the comfortable reach of the federal government into their lives now a spot of complete and utter silence. The cities are under local martial law, the police high on new-found power in a permanent state of crisis, and honestly the three of them spend more time trying to dodge the law than they do hunting.

It’s the end of an era. 

Here they are, years since any semblance of civilization, crossing into Seattle, and Dean drums hard on the steering wheel to Back in Black, determined to aim for happiness while Sam sits there and tries to puzzle out why his brain. Is fucking. Itching.

It’s like seeing someone watch him out of the corner of his eye. It’s like the moment before a burst of panic-induced telekinesis. 

Something waiting for him. Something watching.

Seattle is Dean’s idea. It’s been long enough already. Time to try a city and Seattle is what Dean thinks of. Somewhere they haven’t ever been.

As far as Sam is concerned, a city is a city and they are all bad news, but Dean has a plan and he’s bright with attempted cheer. Never mind that the city looks like a burned out husk of center of urban population. Never mind that there is next to nothing to distract from the utter desolation left behind by the Pulse. No concerts, no baseball games. Hell, they’re lucky when they can find an open bar. But right now he can tell Dean isn’t thinking of any of that. They have their car and they have their music. Sam wants to hold on to that while he can.

The streets are quiet and the air is still, like the whole city was asleep under a blanket of summer heat.

They pass under the Space Needle and Sam’s. Brain. Itches.

Something feels wrong. Even more wrong than usual these days.

”Uh, Dean? I think--”

The driver’s side window falls inward, giving way in a shower of glass. The last thing Sam sees is a black-gloved hand popping the lock on Dean’s door. Something moving too fast to be human slams Sam forward into the dashboard and the world goes dark.

*~*~*

Sam wakes to the feel of a cold, hard surface under him. He can feel bits of grit and dirt against the skin of his face. The itch inside his brain has progressed to pain that seems to coat every nerve in his entire head. Things have progressed from _something is wrong here_ to _completely FUBAR_. He has to be able to think. He has to be able to use his mind. Dean needs him and-- 

”You!” a man growls. ”They told me you were coming. Now you tell me. Tell me about your faith.”

”You got the wrong guy,” Dean calls back, false bravado settling into the air, but it’s Dean, it’s his brother’s voice, and it brings an automatic sense of comfort, of certainty. He just has to be able to _think_. ”You’d have to ask my brother.”

”Then he will be worthy of her,” the other man breathes. ”And you’ll be there to watch. Just like they always said. My Lady and her angels,” he says, and Sam can feel him start to smile--a smile like a wolf.

He opens his eyes then and looked in the direction of their attacker--and blinks.

There is danger in every line of the man’s body. That’s no surprise, given the voice the body is attached to. But as he looks between Dean and the man wearing gloves the only thing he can think is _shapeshifter_. There’s no other explanation for what he’s seeing.

He tries to move and finds himself straining against the familiar feel of rope. He shifts in his place on the floor, hoping to dislodge one of his knives even a little bit, but he doesn’t feel their familiar weight against his body.

He’s unarmed, and he has to assume Dean is too.

_Shit._

The doppleganger turns his attention to Sam. ”Do you have faith in the lady?” he asked. ”Does she hold your life in her hands?”

”I don’t--”

”Don’t worry. I know your faith must be strong. They told me you would be here. How do you think I found you? You’re safe with me now. I’ll do everything I can to help you be ready,” the thing--it has to be a thing, has to--says. ”Now, hold still.” 

The low buzz of a tattoo gun joins the frantic rush of Sam’s thoughts and the gloved _thing_ steps into his space.

”You son of a bitch! You can’t listen to them!” Dean screams from somewhere beside him.

”Why not? They made me, made me what I am and they brought you here. I’m the one who’s going to win. So it has been foretold. It is time.”

Dean deflates and Sam feels a kick land to his stomach, the thing moving faster than a human would, maybe as fast as a goddamn Wendigo and they are so fucked, so fucked--

 _Dean’s in danger_ , he tells himself, even though the thing with Dean’s face is pulling him into a sitting position, even though the tattoo gun is aimed at him.

Even though he’s the sacrificial lamb in the middle of some goddamn crusade.

 _Dean’s in danger_ , he tells himself, and he waits for the sour rush of bile in his throat to mean something, to turn into a blast of power, to have some value.

Just when he’s about to give up, he thinks of Ruby, Ruby telling him what could have been the truth.

_You had it in you the whole time._

And he may be fucked, he may be cursed six ways from Sunday, but at least he has this.

He pushes out through the pain in his head, the agony that must somehow be coming from being around this _thing_. He forms a nexus of the power in his mind and aims it directly for the thing’s stomach, and he _pushes_.

Something releases, a spring uncoiling inside of him and he _feels_ as well as sees the moment when the thing hits the wall. Above his head, scrawled in black graffiti are three words: _MISSION. Duty. Discipline._

”Take that, you sick fuck,” Sam growls, and it isn’t enough, but it’s what he has for right now. The thing with Dean’s face, the thing sent by Raphael, or whatever it is, struggles against the power but he can’t move an inch, and not for the first time Sam is thankful for what has been given to him, Winchester curse or no.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he hears metal grinding against metal. He can’t focus on where it’s coming from, because the pain in his head is redoubling and he needs to hold the freak creature in his place against the wall, buy Dean some time. 

”Dean, run!” he shouts, and he knows Dean won’t do it, not by himself, not if it means leaving him here, but he has to try and get Dean out of here, he has to. Whatever wants him will want Dean next. He knows the thing can’t move and precious seconds are ticking by. But Dean gets the time he needs, he knows now, because he feels his brother’s hands at his back, pulling on the rope, getting his hands loose and he feels a rush of gratitude so strong he nearly doubles over. 

”Ben!” A woman is screaming somewhere in the fog of his awareness. Everything is in slow motion. But he registers her words: ”Run! Just run!” And he does, picks himself up off the floor and takes off as fast as he can with Dean by his side. 

It will have to be fast enough.


End file.
